


Don't Forget About Me

by WatchOverYourAssButt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Blade Headcanon, Angst, Dean Comforting Castiel, Dean Confessions, Gen, Hurt and comfort, Implied and/or Mentioned Anxiety, Implied and/or Mentioned Depression, Implied/Slightly Detailed Nudity, Mention of NonCon (because that Reaper was a Bitch), Personal Frustration, Self Harm sort of Implied? (though it's technically not meant that way), Talk of Dean's Depression, coping methods, depressed!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-06 16:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8760469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatchOverYourAssButt/pseuds/WatchOverYourAssButt
Summary: Castiel struggles with depression and anxiety, as is tragic for a former angel who hadn't had feeling before, to do. The only question is how he may overcome it, if he can manage it at all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'll admit, this is sort of written therapeutically for personal reasons, but it did stem from thoughts surrounding Cas and habits he might could gain as ways of coping and it just sort of turned into an angst fic focusing on the depression and anxiety he obviously has had and still tends to have.

_Scared of my own image_

_Scared of my own immaturity_

_Scared of my own ceiling, Scared I'll die of uncertainty_

_Fear might be the Death of me, Fear leads to Anxiety_

_Don't know what's inside of me_

 

 

It was probably very unusual, to spend time in a shower, like this. It didn’t escape Castiel, the probability of humans taking time in such a place as this for various reasons, but for him, it was unusual. Especially now that he was an angel again. If he was even that anymore. He had no sure definition for what he currently was.

It was understandable, when he was human. Then, he needed the shower, and his body could enjoy all of the effects a hot shower could have upon the human body, especially with the bunkers superb water pressure. The beating on his tired and worn flesh, the tense and tight muscles, the warmth feeling as if it almost seeped into Castiel’s very core. He looked back on that experience with fondness and yearning, strangely enough. Like many things. Like the PB&J.

Everything was different now. He felt useful once more, at least to a degree. Not enough. And everything was…balanced. It wasn’t the numb existence from his days in the garrison, but it wasn’t the crushing chaos of humanity. It was just….emotions…all of them…feeling, without the benefit of fulfillment.

Even having come to that conclusion, Castiel still sought out the feelings and sensations, in times of desperation. He wasn’t sure if desperation was the word, but it was the best label for the time being as he left Sam and Dean, who’s efforts of winding down from a tense, taxing, and emotionally chaotic hunt came down to a bottle or a can. Castiel just preferred another option. They had their own reasons to be closed up in their own little worlds, and Castiel let them. They needed to recover, and Castiel could manage his own recovery by himself. He was an angel, for crying out loud, he was beyond the human conception grown up by this point in his existence. He shouldn’t depend…

The walk to the showers was almost blacked out, all Castiel remembered once he reached the bathroom was the floors that lined the path there, his gaze never leaving the floor as he had went. He’d arrived quite robotically, but didn’t think of it long. He went to the preferred shower, the one without any soaps or rags or razors—his, or at least one of the extras (he no longer needed to tend to his hygiene, so why buy the products?). He turned the nobs to all the right notches, until the pressure was hard enough, and the temperature warm enough. Perhaps it was pointless, but Castiel still did it.

Even undressing was robotic, though he did go to the effort of folding each item he shed from his form. He loosened the tie and yanked it free of his neck, tossing it over his pile, the only thing he didn’t sort perfectly. Once everything was removed, he looked to the water expectantly; the steady stream of it, the mass of strong droplets shooting from the faucet, the steam flowing around the shower stall, out into the room, the warmth kissing Castiel’s flesh.

He entered head first, immediately soaking his head of hair until it clumped atop his head or fell in clinging strings around his face. The warmth was all around him, but it wasn’t stifling (he was almost disappointed). He straightened himself, and raised his head, until he dropped it backwards, the spray hitting his neck, the stream gliding down his chest like a waterfall of heat flowing between his pecs and down his abdomen. He took a deep breath, and let it out in a harsh sigh through his nose as he turned to one side, letting the spray glide across his shoulders, his biceps, down over his hips and thighs, and he turned back around until he was giving proper exposure to the spray upon his other side.

All the while, he was seeking that feeling; the piercing pressure that made him feel as if he were being kneaded like dough, and yet sculpted like clay. Like he was being broken down into something so small and tender only to rise rejuvenated and livened and strengthened.

He’d felt that after Dean had brought him ho—When Dean had brought him here, to the bunker, after his experience with the Reaper, Castiel had sought out the shower as soon as he could once Dean suggested it.

He hadn’t even thought into his experience beyond feeling the need to clean the blood and the experience he’d had, and hadn’t cleaned himself of the morning after yet. He hadn’t thought of how she’d made him feel safe, secure…wanted and welcomed. How she’d made him feel warm, and she’d tended to those confusing aches and flourishes of feeling…how it had given him something, only to be poison, leaving him weakened and pliable for her torture and interrogation. He’d given of himself in a way he never expected to and it had been twisted, had been tainted, the more he thought about it, it made him sick.

But the beat of the water washed it away, cleared and cleaned him of it all, at least the overlaying feeling of it all (the deep seeded parts were another story), so he found himself able to consider it still a learning experience once normalcy returned in the Winchester’s presence.

He didn’t feel it now. All he felt was warmth, and heat, and the pelting of the water. It all felt so mechanical, like this. Pointless.

Still, Castiel stood in the spray, rolling his shoulders, rolling his neck, stretching his back. Sure, this form, with its angelic boost of strength and endurance and such things, never really experienced the crack of aching limbs. Crack of bones or pops of loose limbs, sure, but never that satisfying tug and pull of a stretch, nor the relief of the popping joints.

Pointless.

Finally, he swallowed, sniffed, and turned his back to the spray, head falling forward as the water began to assault his back. It hit the nape of his neck, over his shoulder blade, down between his shoulders, flooding down his spine and his sides. There was almost an ache there, now, but it wasn’t physical. It was emotional. The water seemed to just press and poke at just the joints that linked his wings to this form and it ached to even think of the horrible state they were in. Castiel couldn’t even fly anymore, they were bones and clinging, withered muscle—Castiel would be lucky if a single feather had held on this long.

Suddenly, he found his legs going weak in a way that was almost familiar enough to that chaotic humanity that it made this shower worthwhile. He fell forward against the hard, damp wall, slipping down onto his knees.

He lay his forehead against the wall, as he took breaths, in and out. Was he crying? He wasn’t sure, it felt similar, and his eyes stung, but his chest and throat ached as well. Soon, the air was becoming too stiflingly warm. He stumbled to stand again, shutting the water off and pushing out of the shower, trying to stable his breathing. His legs were still betraying him, so his back found itself pressed against the wall until he slipped down to the floor, on leg to his chest as the other just gave up and fell to the ground with a wet splat.

He took a breath in and out and still found little gasps overcoming him despite his efforts to calm his breathing. He must have tried for three whole minutes before he found he’d finally calmed. He sighed and ran a hand through his wet hair, brushing it back with a rough grip, lips pulling into a tight line, brows tensing sternly. Nostrils flared in his own annoyance at his self, practically hitting his head back against the wall.

Nothing worked right. Nothing fit. Or perhaps it was just him. HE didn’t work right. HE didn’t fit. He had no idea how to change this, or if he even could. Because what place was there that fit right, for everyone? He wasn’t welcome in heaven, not by angelic standards, and not by his kin; he was either a villain, a disappointment, or an abomination in their minds. And he honestly didn’t want to go back to them. He cared for them, as much as a fallen angel could care for his kin; he wanted them to exist the best they could to their best potential, and he was tired of them dying—his family, always dying, at this rate they would be extinct by Sam and Dean’s next Apocalypse.

But despite their words and sentiments, and somewhat confusing and ever-changing opinions, Castiel didn’t fit well enough here with them, either. A faltering angel, duty bound to serve and protect humans, to fight for the betterment of them and their world, and he sat here trying to fit into all the simple day to day details of their lives, much less trying to keep up with their hunter gained instincts and their life-taught attitudes. He tried, and he succeeded perhaps, but not often enough it felt. He was too serious about _this_ , not serious enough about _that_ , and then he was giving too much insight and help on _this_ thing, but absolutely useless with _this_. He half the time his presence could tend to be lingering, space intruding, but the moment he goes out to do work he saw fit to due (whether it be availability, distraction, or duty), he always felt wrong for it, if not purposefully made to feel that way.

An angel, with broken Grace, abomination of heaven, and fumbling caretaker of earth…

He didn’t want to be this anymore. He couldn’t keep being this, it was pointless, HE was pointless, he just needed to…needed to…

Blue eyes opened then, looking in the distance at nothing in particular as the idea struck him. It was something he’d thought of fleetingly, but never felt like it was a good idea. He felt childish for it, or rash. Or he feared what would come of him if he committed to the act….baby in a trench coat and all.

And the fear was there now (you’ll be even more lost, even more alone, NO ONE will want you, etc.), but he was finding it hard to focus, over the loud scream of it being the only answer that made sense anymore.

As usually done (thankful he still had the grace to do this when needed, and prepared to get used to NOT doing this anymore), Castiel quirked his elbow at an angle, and as if releasing something akin to a single claw, the blade seem to materialized from and seep out of the now-shining curve below his elbow and glide just right, almost gliding in a curve as it shot underarm. Once the blade glided under his fingers, it was as if it knew to cling to the flesh as Castiel quirked his wrist to catch the handle.

Blade now in hand, he turned it in hand until the blade was facing him and he raised it, looking it over as he considered how he might go about this. It had to be a careful procedure, and he had to choose the best area of approach that would not so wound his grace as to pierce it fatally. His stomach twisted and writhed, but it wasn’t powerful enough to stay his thoughts, nor his hand as he held the blade straight up, the tip pointing to the ceiling. He thumbed at the handle, forefinger grazing one of the three corners of the blade.

He took a breath then, and decided Metatron’s approach was probably best.

So he aimed the tip to his throat, feeling it press along the side of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

“Cas! …’The hell you at, man?”

Castiel’s grip on the blade tightened at the sound of Dean’s voice, but he couldn’t let the thought of what Dean would do or think stop him, this had to be his decision…! Either Castiel wanted this, or he didn’t.

As soon as the door handle began to turn, Castiel made the slice across his throat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chap, probably, since this was more of a 'on a whim' fic. I think everything gets as resolved as possible in this. Didn't want to over do it, but also felt like some things needed to be tried, so. Hope you guys like.

_Don't forget about me_

_Even when I doubt you_

_I'm not good without you_

 

_Don't forget about me_

 

 

It was a blur of gruff curses, breaking octaves, rough hands, watery vision, and the blue-white shine of his grace spilling light from the cut he’d sliced across his throat.

“Fucking Hell, Cas, don’t do this, what—the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Castiel felt the hand trying to block the wound on his throat, and he gripped Dean’s wrist, finally seeming to come back to himself and he began tugging at Dean’s wrist.

“D-don’t…” he managed to mutter, but it was strangled, the sound coming out wet and rough from his throat.

Dean still fought his grip on his wrist though, still trying to stop it. “Don’t what!?” Dean’s voice broke a bit, but his intensity made it level again. “Stop you from fucking killing yourself!? You can kiss my ass with that fucking shit, Cas, I ain’t letting you—”

“I’m not…not trying to kill myself.” Castiel tried to tell him, looking into Dean’s eyes. He could still smell the alcohol on the hunter, but the look in Dean’s eyes showed the sight he came in to find very much sobered him. Castiel felt faintly guilty.

“What else could you be doing?!” Dean asked, still not giving up, Castiel now just holding his wrist instead of fighting it.

“I can’t do it anymore, Dean. Be like this, I…it’s so empty, I can’t keep…” he shook his head, and he felt something fall down his cheek. He wasn’t sure if it was water from his hair, or a tear from his eye, and it felt as if it didn’t matter which.

“Cas, what are you talking about..?! Why would you…wouldn’t you TALK to us, before you go and do something like this..!?” Dean was seeming less and less able to withhold each and every utterance that came up with his emotions, his eyes shining.

“Dean…”

“Why would you choose to LEAVE like this, Cas!?”

“Not leaving, Dean…” Castiel sighed, tugging on his hand again.

“Then what the fuck is this?!”

“…Humanity.” Castiel responded.

Dean blanked, and Castiel was able to completely remove Dean’s hand, only for Dean to yank his hand free just to grab Castiel’s wrist and forcing Castiel’s hand to his own throat. “Heal it.”

“No.”

“Cas, HEAL it.” He urged.

“Dean, no.”

“CAS!” Dean complained, voice urgent with emotion and anger and worry.

“Dean, I want to be human again!” Castiel exclaimed, yanking his hand free, scooting across the wet ground, away from Dean, now starting to feel more aware of his naked state before Dean, feeling how cool it really was in here now that the steam had vanished.

Dean stared at him, going for Castiel’s throat again, but he noticed it was already starting to heal naturally. Barely, but the grace was staying in place, and the edges of the wound were seeming to slowly, achingly slowly, mend. “What are you talking about…? Why would you want that, to be human? I thought that was hell for you. Evil reapers and living homeless and false dates, all that shit.”

Castiel swallowed, and hesitated, before answering. “It was at times, but now everything’s…Dean, nothings right anymore, I’m not…I-I’m useless, I’m numb, I’m empty, I’m…I’m nothing as an angel, what use am I to you; an angel who’s nothing but-”

“Cas..” Dean interrupted him, grabbing his shoulder to nudge him, but when Castiel just shook his head, Dean went to grasp his neck and jaw to hold his gaze. “Cas, that has NOTHING to do with your divinity or your humanity, you’re…” Dean sighed, jaw tensing and releasing. “This feeling, trust me, won’t change whether you’re fucking human or not.”

“How do you know—”

“Because its depression. What you’re dealing with, because this is a fucked up life and fucked up environment for anyone to be in; in a world filled with monsters, and company like me and Sam..? This is depression. Even humans feel the way you’re feeling… Some fix it, some can’t, some survive, some don’t…but Cas, you can’t just…make a decision like this without thinking it through, without talking about it!”

“How many decisions have you or your brother made without talking it through because it seemed the best…?” Castiel questioned, not exactly malicious, but still countering to Dean’s scolding tone.

Dean sighed, releasing Castiel’s neck and the angel looked up to him, brows furrowing because…well, because he felt a familiar human ache when Dean’s touch was no longer there. He swallowed and lowered his gaze, leg moving as if to cover him, pointlessly of course because he may be mostly blocking his crotch, his thigh and ass were in full view and this felt weird and Castiel was slowly contemplating clothes or a towel, yet thinking it pointless.

Dean rolled his eyes, kneeled on one knee with one arm propped now. “Yeah, yeah, Cas, no need to remind me.” Dean remarked, somewhat annoyed, before he looked Castiel over, and took the first calming breath he’d managed since he came in on the sight of Castiel’s blade slicing his throat as he sit naked on the bathroom floor. As he watched Castiel, he was avoiding eye contact and seeming to space out, he felt a weight on his heart. It was a slow trickling thought, spilled with worry and fear and anger over what this had seemed to be and what he was convinced it COULD have been….but, maybe he needed to change how he approached things. Fuck, he and Sam keep things in so damn much, and only Once In A Blue Moon While The World or His World Is Being Threatened does Dean actually properly fucking open up and try to talk to Cas, tell him things he NEEDS to know, NEEDS to understand.

Sure, Dean felt like he wasn’t the best teacher, and shouldn’t be one to Cas (both because he was a horrible role model, and it seemed ridiculous because Dean was supposed to be the child in their situation comparatively if he really thought about it). Some things, he felt Cas should be able to handle, or be able to learn how to, on his own. But fuck, maybe he could have tried more…been of more help…done SOMETHING. Because how many times has Castiel fucked up or fallen on his face, and how many times has Dean had nightmares over how the hell he could have helped or fixed it?

He ran a hand through his hair, taking another deep breath, before sighing through his nose, shaking his head. He didn’t know how to do this. He didn’t know if he COULD. He’d never had his own damn example, one of his father’s many failings that he tried to (most of the time) over look. But maybe now was the time to finally break the cycle…

“...Look…Cas…” Dean started, and even that was awkward, he felt like something was twitching uncomfortably with him, he was so apprehensive. Castiel sniffed, and Dean looked him over again. Jeez, he was still soaked. Sure, an angel probably couldn’t get a damn cold; maybe Castiel could, but it would have to take a dip in a damn iceberg for it. Either way, it couldn’t be comfortable like this. Dean stood and looked for towels, spotting plenty of different sizes AND some of the robes. He hurried over to them, grabbing one of the robes that had a more soft texture, and two towels and hurried back to Castiel, careful of the wet spots on the floor. Dean put it all aside on the ground and kneeled in front of Castiel, looking at his face as he tried to get his attention. “Cas, hey…think you can stand?”

Castiel looked at Dean, only half raising his head, gaze barely questioning. His features were so downturned with his heavy emotions, he looked so…tired…defeated. “..What?”

“Come on, need you to stand, buddy. Just…I don’t know, just grab on…i-if you need.” Dean offered as he reached to grasp Castiel’s elbows, urging him to try and stand.

Castiel’s arms were limp at first, and he was still, but the longer he watched Dean, Dean holding his arms and waiting, he seemed as if he was regaining some energy. Planting his hands on Dean’s shoulders, he took a shaky breath in and out. He grasped Dean’s shirt as they both worked together, Dean pulling him up and Castiel working to make his legs cooperate. Dean stood closer, in case Castiel’s legs gave out, and Castiel seemed intent on preventing that, though his grip was tight on Dean’s shoulders; dependent.

Finally, Castiel stood straight again (or at least as straight as he usually did), and Dean guided him to lean against the wall as he grabbed the robe and soon helped Castiel into it. Castiel’s efforts to assist were slow at first, almost uncooperative.

“Dean, you don’t have to do this.” He tried to say, either feeling like a child or a problem but Dean wasn’t having it.

“Don’t care, I’m doing it. Just work with me at least.”

So Castiel did, trying not to look at Dean. As soon as the robe was on, Castiel tied the waist off, obviously gaining enough self-consciousness again to feel the need. Dean took one towel and wrapped it over Castiel’s shoulders, then the other around his hair.

“Look, taking you out of here, you’re gonna dry up and get dressed and we’ll…we’re going to talk about this.” Dean stated, awkward but determined.

“There’s no point in talking.” Castiel stated as Dean guided him out of the room, and Castiel found it strange how heavy his legs felt, and regarded it as week, how he still clung one hand to one of Dean’s shoulders.

“The hell there isn’t, Cas.”

“Dean-”

“We’re having a discussion, or so help me, I’m stalking you twenty-four seven until we do.”

Castiel held his tongue at that. Dean was determined, and unless Cas wanted a fight, there was no changing his mind unless Dean changed it himself. And Castiel didn’t want to fight. He wasn’t sure that he could handle that.

When they arrived at Dean’s room, and Dean didn’t hesitate to lead them in and guide Castiel to the bed, the angel felt the need to finally speak.

“…Dean, I’m fine in my own room…”

“Yeah, well, for the moment, I’m not. Besides, a lot of things that can help this…this kind of stuff is change. One change, to start with, would be your attire. This’ll just be a loan.” Dean started, feeling more comfortable with the deflecting topics as he rummaged through his clothes to find something suitable, both for Castiel’s style, or at least color scheme so maybe he wouldn’t pout as much, but also size wise. He might be a head or two smaller than Dean, but as seen in such a freaky as fuck situation as in the bathroom, the guy wasn’t exactly small, so hopefully his clothes wouldn’t be too loose.

Once he’d managed with a grey T, some blue and green flannel and some jeans (one of his most comfortable, actually), he turned back to the angel, who seemed to be looking slowly all about at the ground, towels still draped so his face was half covered in a shawl.

He tossed the clothes on the back side of the bed and made his way to Castiel’s side, questioning where to start. Leave the room, let him take care of this himself? He looked like he’d take two hours, in his state, if he even tried. He might just sit in that robe for a week, if Dean let him. Swallowing, Dean sighed and stepped close in Castiel’s space.

That got the angels attention, Castiel dragging his eyes up, just in time for Dean to put his hands on either side of Castiel’s hand. He looked confused, pink lips parted as if a question was working its way through translation, but then Dean’s hands started to move the towel against and over his hair, in circles around his head, before back and forth. The effort repeated unevenly as Castiel realized Dean was drying his hair.

Castiel swallowed and sniffed again, eyes falling shut, as he had nowhere better to look. Somehow it made this more acceptable, too. It made everything else fall away until all Castiel’s focus was on how it felt to have Dean’s firm but considerate touch running over scalp, even though separated by the presence of the towel. Castiel didn’t linger on why Dean’s touch made things feel a bit better (he’d learned to try to stop doing that some time back); at this point, he felt like he’d be drowning and sputtering from the over flow of negativity or numbness, he was slowly feeling a starvation for this.

He felt something lightly drop behind him, and his eyes slowly opened, as if he were tired and they’d been glued shut, only to open them quickly when he felt touch again. Dean’s hands, his fingers running _through_ Castiel’s hair, rubbing over his scalp.

“W-what are you…” Castiel began to question.

Dean removed his hands carefully as he cleared his throat, avoiding Castiel’s gaze. “Checking to see if it was still damp. It’s dry enough, I think… You should probably dry off completely, or else you’re gonna be cold, an’ the close’ll stick.” He moved to sort the clothes behind Castiel, pointlessly.

Castiel nodded, and reached for the towel around his shoulders. While Dean fussed with the clothes that needed no fussing, he dropped the robe, back to Dean as he worked the towel over himself. It was a slow and lazy effort, but he went over himself just enough times to be sure he was dry enough.

Plus, the fussing behind him was getting a little distracting. Holding the towel lazily against his stomach, he reached a hand silently to Dean for some item of clothing. Dean was about to hand the pants, before he realized he’d forgotten underwear. A faint blush to his cheeks that was mainly noticed because it made his freckles stand out, he fumbled to grab a pair he hadn’t worn in a while and handing them and the pants over to Castiel.

“Thank you.” The angel managed to mutter as he slipped the underwear on first, which fit only sort of snug, and then the pants, which felt snug around his rear and thighs and a little less around his calves, but it was still comfortable enough. He tossed the towel over with the other one and the robe, stepping closer to Dean as the man handed him the grey T-shirt.

Castiel slipped the T on smoothly enough, and it felt well. He looked to Dean, who was now fumbling with the flannel button up.

“You don’t have to wear this, just grabbed whatever.” Dean stated with a shrug.

Castiel watched him a moment, before a hand carefully reached and took the item of clothing from Dean’s wringing grasp, fingers grazing as he did so and he slipped that on as well. He was used to layers, anyways; it might feel weird with just a t-shirt. Once he was clothed, though, he looked to Dean questioningly, waiting.

Dean realized that, and he took a breath, looking him over and then looking away, before looking to Castiel’s neck. “…We’re doing this, but first you gotta do something.” He looked into Castiel’s deep blues then.

“What?”

“Heal your neck.” Dean’s eyes flicked down and back.

Castiel swallowed, hesitating, he could still feel his grace flowing at the edge of the wound, tempted to escape, but clinging to this vessel it had called home for some years now.

“…Cas, please.”

Castiel watched Dean for a moment longer. The look in his eyes, the desperate plea, as well as the determined set state of his jaw which told Castiel Dean intended to TRY…whatever it is he was going to do about this situation. Castiel still wanted to just fall back to his plan, just throw himself back to the chaos of humanity, but…perhaps he should at least give Dean a chance.

He could always try again later if need be.

Castiel nodded, reaching to press his two fingers to his throat, mending the wound the rest of the way and sealing his grace back inside where it settled as it had been before.

Dean seemed to relax, just a bit, as he let out a breath Castiel hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “…Good. Okay. S-so…look, I really don’t know how to go about this, ‘cause I’m not use to this sort of thing…doing it, or having it done for me, or whatever…”

“This isn’t required of you, Dean.” Castiel tried to assure him, and Dean set a stern look on him.

“Yes it is. When you care about someone, you have some level of responsibility to…to help them, in whatever way they need, when they can’t help themselves. And I’m gonna be damned before I let you-or, or Sam, or anyone I care about wallow on their own when they have options.” He found himself saying, a fierceness growing in his voice. “My dad did that, and I learned that as being the only way, I guess, I…I’m done with that. I have to be done with that.”

Castiel opened his mouth to speak, but Dean shook his head and gave him this look; this look that pleaded with him not to argue, to just let him, to just give him this chance. Castiel lowered his gaze and nodded.

Dean sat down on the side of his bed, and gave the spot beside him a single slap to indicate Castiel should join him. Castiel did, sitting, shoulders slumping. Dean was silent for some time, just trying to find the right words, the right point, the right path of thought before he even TRIED to start speaking, and Castiel felt as if he should just stay quiet (not that he could find any words anyways).The two of them almost mirrored each other, until Dean turned to face Castiel.

“Look. This is the thing. Everything we deal with, I’ve come to realize…from experience, or from hearing  other peoples experiences, I’ve learned that anything and everything we deal with has the potential to cripple us. Depending on where we are, and how we perceive things, and what our lives have taught us directly or indirectly, we are affected by everything. And we deal with it differently, and…” he shook his head, working his way back to his train of thought. “We just…anybody or thing that has…has a heart or soul or…or anything like it, they’re subject to this sort of experience. To be able to feel, the price tends to be hurt. And some people push through it, some people get weighed down by it. Sometimes both people might experience both things, its just…its different, and we just have to find a way to…to survive, to push through, to keep fighting.

“Even me and Sam, Cas. Me and Sam both…” Dean shook his head. Castiel just watched him. It didn’t come as a surprise to Castiel, with their lives, but they certainly seemed more capable of handling it all from where he stood, at least better than him. “We’re certainly not the best at dealing with…with all that we deal with. I mean, with handling it, working through it. We either work on it within ourselves and that stints or stifles something in us and it fucks us up later, or we just bottle it up until it picks the worse god damn time to blow up and that just not how it’s supposed to be.”

Castiel noticed a thickness to Dean’s voice and he turned a bit more towards him, almost wanting to stop him, but the hunter continued.

“I was depressed when dad died. Mom, too, but…it was different. I was a kid, and then it was just missing her. As I got older, it was missing what I never had, and punching out anyone who offended her memory…Sam included, on occasion. I was depressed when Sammy left for school, when it really started to…to blatantly show, that Dad favored him, that…” Dean cleared his throat, shaking his head as if he felt like that subject was either pointless or a no zone. “I was depressed waiting for the day I was dragged to hell, and then even when…when you brought me back, I was so anxious, felt so…undeserving?” his voice was flecked with emotion. “I-I…”

“…Dean..” Castiel spoke, the hunters name barely a whisper as he knew this was damn-near torture to Dean, obviously one of his many reasons why he didn’t express himself or his feelings.

But Dean shook his head violently, briefly, as if to say ‘No, let me’. “I was depressed when Bobby died, when Charlie, Kevin…when you stayed in Purgatory, when I thought I left you, Cas, there were times I almost went b-… I…the mark…fuck, the mark just…I felt like my time, as…as _that_ was just tainted with every possible negative part of me, those guilty feelings and thoughts, and the worst feelings… Cas, I’ve dealt with a lot of shit as a human, and I’ve coped in ways that worked and ways that didn’t. Ignoring, drinking, pushing through, punching it out, raging it out, I just…whatever I fucking have to do, in that moment, it’s what I just…have to do. And I’ve survived. Lived. Maybe not the best life, but I guess it’s the best I got.” He forced a laugh.

Castiel could do nothing but just nod, and then Dean’s gaze was back on him. Holding him there, watching him with intent and emotion painting the deep shadows and flecks of light in those green eyes. Castiel swallowed.

“But you, Cas, you…sure, you’ve been alive…p-probably longer than I was an…idea in those asshat, feuding brother’s of yours’ minds, I guess, maybe… So you..its not like you’re new to existence, new to living, new to the world. But you…you were new to _this_ world, you were new to _this_ sort of experience down here. Sure, you more often than not were some level of angel, but you’ve been…different for a while. You feel, Cas, human or not. I can’t really…imagine or comprehend the difference in how that works between you and me, but I’m aware…I’m aware now that you were thrust into this whole experience with so little expectations or knowledge involved, and you struggled and we haven’t really offered any hands on help, you’ve just had to watch and learn. And that’s what I’m…most sorry for.”

“Dean, don’t.”

“Cas, just let me-” Dean tried.

“No. Dean. I don’t care what you have to say, but do not put guilt for my personal state upon your shoulders, I’ve told you, it’s not your responsibility.”

“The hell it isn’t..!” Dean snapped, and then sighed, running his hands roughly through his hair. “Just…just listen, okay. You haven’t learned any better than what we fucking do, and I’m done sitting by and letting you, someone who was never taught through emotions, I…I wasn’t taught everything, but at least my dad was there to teach me the basics for survival in the life that _I_ was thrust into. You had no one to do that for you, Cas, and you never learned, not how you should of, and that needs to change.”

“How?” Castiel asked, shaking his head and looking to Dean.

“Talk to me.” Dean stated, and the familiarity in the words was bittersweet, reminding Castiel of a time with familiar heaviness weighing down on him. “About anything. About everything. About why you…want to be human, about what pushed you to think about that, about…just… Cas, just talk to me. Just start and let it…flow, I don’t know, just…please…try and talk to me.”

Castiel shook his head again, unsure he could manage it. His throat felt as if it had thickened and he swallowed hard, stuttering a breath. “…Dean, I don’t…I-I don’t feel…like it’s worth it.”

“You are worth it, Cas.”

Castiel shut his eyes.

“Castiel.”

The way his heart seemed to violently give a fluttering beat was almost alarming. He was so unused to Dean saying his full name.

“Talk to me…”

Castiel looked to Dean a last time, still hesitating, and Dean saw that. And he was determined, at least to get something started, he couldn’t just give up on this, let this moment pass, let Castiel’s need to work through this pass.

He reached and placed a firm hand against Castiel’s neck, the warm press of his palm, thumb right there at the curve of his neck and jaw, and Castiel seemed to change at the touch. Dean took a breath, laying on his last little nudge. “…Please.”

With that, Castiel seemed to cave. He nodded, and was soon searching for the words. Soon enough, the words were stumbling out, and then they were flowing. His experiences over the past year, with everyone, with himself, how they’d made him feel; useless, or like a problem, or an offense in some way whether it be betrayal or personal choices. Soon enough, he was trembling as the years and experiences and thoughts and feelings came fumbling. Sometimes he skipped over a bit, like how angry or hurt he’d been when Dean had sent him away when he was human, and some things he found himself crumbling into speaking about, like what Naomi had done to him.

“I just…I just want to help, Dean. I’m supposed to be an angel, I’m meant…to better this world, make it safe, might it right, I’m…I feel like I’m supposed to be more, and sometimes…sometimes being here for you and Sam is enough, but then I feel as if I’m not and then I over compensate or I don’t do something right, I just… I don’t know…Dean, I don’t…know my purpose anymore, I don’t know what I am, or why I’m here and there are times where it’s all like an avalanche upon me and I can’t breathe and others I feel like I’m trapped alone, no matter what my company is. I feel…I-I’m a failure.”

Dean’s grip on Castiel’s neck tightened light, and he even took a hold of the side of Castiel’s face. “Hey. Hey, you look at me.”

Castiel struggled to, and it hurt Dean to see the shine of his eyes, and even a tear or two manage to fall. Never had he wanted to see such a near mirror of himself, not upon Cas. It didn’t matter how grown he or Sam, or anyone Dean cared about was, it didn’t matter how much that it was…’its just life’… Despite knowing that, Dean still felt that reaction, somewhere deep inside himself. There was still that part of him that would sometimes want to try and find a way to fix it. That kid who had hugged his mom and told her he loved her when she cried over an argument with her husband over the phone. That kid had stopped when that same father wouldn’t stop crying, no matter what the kid had said or the hugs he’d given. He’d stopped until he didn’t know how to do it anymore unless it was absolutely necessary.

“…Cas, you are _not_ a failure. This is hard as hell to both hear AND believe, I know. And it’s probably something I’ll still struggle with myself when the right time comes, but… You are not a failure, Cas. You _failed_. But you’ve came out on the other side, and you kept pushing until you were standing again. And you keep trying, to do better. And that’s the best damn thing you can do, something that so many others struggle to even manage. Okay? You are NOT a failure. I don’t care what…what my past actions may have made you believe, I’m sorry for that, and I don’t care what you think, or what any monster or demon or angel or any other THING tells you, okay? You…” Dean shook his head, struggling to keep eye contact, but he did. He wasn’t sure if he was going into over kill, or if this was necessary, but it was already about to flow out, there was no point stopping it. “Cas, to me, you’re a friend. You’re a guardian angel, as cheesy as that fucking is and as…impossible as I believed it to be most my life until 8 years ago. You’re what a damn angel SHOULD be, in my opinion, you’re…” he swallowed the lump in his throat, “You’re what…you embody what I used to imagine when my mom would tell me how angels would watch over me, care for me…fight for me.”

Castiel sniffed, and almost wanted to stop Dean, it was too much, and it almost seemed too much for Dean, but the man kept pushing.

“You’re the best damn friend I’ve had, I…never had many, not real ones, and I’ve gained so few since I met you, you’re something…Cas, you’re something so beyond, so different, because you…for all you or I have ever felt you failed in, Cas, or that I’ve failed in, you’ve done more than anyone ever has tried to or could for me, and I…” He couldn’t continue there, and he just pushed on, finding it necessary to scoot closer as he did. “You are…you’re just trying, like anybody else, and you are more family than we’ve had in a while… We fucked up, we all do, we hurt each other, but you need to know we need you, Cas. Humanity. Me and Sam. M-me, Cas, I… Fuck, you gave me a heart attack in that god damn bathroom.” Dean’s voice shook so much and Castiel’s hand found its way to the forearm of the hand on his cheek.

“Dean, I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” his own voice shook, ducking his head.

“Don’t, Cas, just…I can’t…I can’t lose you, and I’ll fight tooth and nail, I’ll do what I have to, if you can just be okay.” Dean pushed, suddenly laying his forehead to Castiel’s. “I’ll do whatever the hell it is I have to do, Cas, I’ll make it okay. I promise, I’ll try—I WILL make it… Just…just let me.”

“Dean..” Castiel sputtered, breath hitching with emotion, Dean’s nose brushing his then.

“Cas.”

Castiel felt the thumb, first. The thumb caressing his cheek. Then both hands seemed to grasp him, whether it was to pull him in or to hold him in place, Castiel wasn’t sure (the touch and closeness was both craved and overwhelming). And then it seemed for them, they both decided, the best next action was to close the space.

And then it was their lips. They pressed deeply, but they didn’t move. It ached, and it soothed. It chilled, and it sent flames. It hurt, and yet it seemed to mend every wound. It may or may not have been the wisest course of action in the moment, but it was the end result of everything until it just bubbled up into what it just…became, there.

Castiel’s hands found their way to Dean’s neck and side, holding him in place as well as clinging. There was a soft noise on Castiel’s lips, both pleased and broken, such a confliction of emotions as his eyes still stung. Dean’s lips trembled against Castiel’s, a few of his own tears falling until finally he removed his lips and took shaky breath, but he kept close, forehead resting on Castiel’s. Both their eyes stayed shut, for a moment or two longer. Castiel’s found their way to Dean’s face first, observing him, his heart aching and pounding, his hands still grasping.

Dean couldn’t look at him yet. “…’m sorry, I..that wasn’t any…sort of plan, ‘s just…”

Castiel swallowed, this time feeling like he’d just swallowed his heart back down his throat, as he leaned and give a very brief, but reassuring peck to Dean’s lips, leaving him sighing and looking up to Castiel, brows furrowed. “I know, Dean…I know.”

Dean nodded, barely moving away. He still stayed close, but he at least stopped pressing his forehead to Castiel’s. “I…this is all…confusing, and fucking overwhelming and at this rate, you’re fucking sleeping in here tonight and we can sleep as soon as you’re ready, I just…I need you  to be okay. I want to make sure you know…I’m here. That you’re not alone.”

“I know better, now…” Castiel nodded. It was going to be hard, but for the sake of Dean’s sanity, and for his own, he knew they both needed to try.

“I just…need that, and I…Cas, I need you…t-to know..”

Castiel leaned forward until he was slowly resting his forehead on Dean’s shoulder, hesitant until he knew the action was very welcomed as Dean effortlessly wound his arms around him. Castiel’s arms found themselves lazily around Dean’s waist.

“…Cas..”

Castiel nodded slowly. “…I know, Dean.”

Dean’s hold on Castiel tightened, as if he struggled for a moment, and then Castiel felt the press of Dean’s cheek against the side of his face, and the movement of his jaw as he spoke.

“…I love you…Cas…”

Castiel’s hold around Dean turned into a grasp, pressing his forehead into Dean’s neck.

“I’m not going anywhere, Dean.”

Dean’s hold intensified, hand going into Castiel’s hair, faintly grasping their as Castiel felt Dean’s hot breath over the back of his ear. They seemed to have both said what was needed to be heard.

Perhaps not everything was mended and not nearly enough said. Perhaps it would never ALL be said. But it was a start. They were trying. They were fighting.

And they would do it, together.


End file.
